


Red-Handed

by Retrouvailles



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Angst, Bridgerton Family Feels, F/F, F/M, Fluffy warmth at times, Granville Society Parties, Homophobia, M/M, Nigel Berbrooke is the Worst, Nonconsensual kissing, Protective Bridgertons, Revenge, Violence, benedict the bi disaster, drunken kisses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28995966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Retrouvailles/pseuds/Retrouvailles
Summary: Revenge hadn't been the first thing on Nigel Berbrooke's mind when he returned home to the ton- but spotting two artists kissing against the railing of a home changed all that.The Bridgerton family took something from him, so perhaps he'd return the favor. Besides, if Benedict Bridgerton didn't want to be caught kissing a married man, then he would have stayed inside the other's studio.
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton & Benedict Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton & Eloise Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton/Henry Granville, Benedict Bridgerton/Lucy Granville
Comments: 12
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this is unbeta'd but I couldn't get it out of my head. Also, can we ALL just agree that Wetherby's first name is Hugh now thanks to AO3 'Oils on Canvas,' by Sospes? 
> 
> More tags and warnings may be added as I go.

Walking back into the ton at night should have meant quiet. It was, after all, a weeknight. Bodies of lords and ladies should have been tucked into their beds, slumbering for the next morn of work. 

Yet, as Nigel Berbrooke found himself slinking back into society, the flickering of lights in a window caught his attention. 

Any well respected person should have been asleep. His body froze slightly at the thought of being caught coming home undeclared in the middle of the night. 

The season was over- the women would surely talk less about his arrival if he had just been home. The recollection of Lady Whistledown's words washed over him once more, his face growing red immediately as his eyes flashed back toward the light in the window- waiting for someone to call out to the man who had been shamed.

Something dark grew in the pit of his stomach. It was a hatred for Lady Whistledown - for Daphne Bridgerton and the whole Bridgerton family ...for The Duke of Hastings. 

His feet stuttered a step as the noise from the home seemed to grow louder, the door opening quicker than he expected. If Nigel had been a stronger man with more dignity, he would have kept walking straight toward his mother’s home. As things were- and as his reputation was already on the line, he instead decided to throw himself behind a thankfully empty carriage.

The noise from the home spilled onto the street and into Nigel’s ears, his head peering slightly around the wooden frame of the carriage, curious but careful not to tip himself onto the pavement below.

The faces were familiar, two artists. One leaned his tall frame against the railing of the front steps of the studio, the other leaning forward in talk that was both hushed yet vibrating. 

Nigel assumed they must have both been drinking- to think of it, he could practically smell the absinthe wafting from the open door. If he could concentrate hard enough, he was sure that was what the smell was. Two drunk artists being too loud in the street at an indecent hour and yet he was the one that had been run out of the ton.

His body leaned forward, only to hear the creaking of wood underneath his palm as he braced himself against the carriage. His entire body froze, ready to be discovered by the two artists breaking from the lively night time party for what he assumed to be a smoke break.

The pair were entranced in conversation though, a conversation that Nigel couldn’t hear no matter how far forward he leaned or twisted. “Go inside.” The words hissed out silently from under his breath, just wanting to get back to his mother’s for the first time in months.

Impatience began to run through his body, ready to move when he saw something he shouldn’t have- something that just didn’t make sense. A kiss.

Benedict wrapped his hand around Henry’s cravat. Long fingers twisted in the silk as he pulled the man forward to meet his lips. He didn’t have time to wonder if he should, too entranced by the other’s laugh as he insisted he walk Benedict out the front door before heading home to Grosvenor Square. 

“I should apologize, Granville- I do not…” Benedict began to whisper, his words falling short. His breath began to rise rapidly, filling his lungs with air that felt like water. Drowning him.

Henry didn’t move for a moment. He had always been so careful when it came to his Hugh. However, Wetherby had fled for France, leaving the other in shambles in London. He had spent weeks slapping paint on canvas, leaving parties behind until his wife pulled him from the daze.

When she had mentioned the second eldest Bridgerton’s gaze- how it had been so similar to Hugh’s and yet so different at the same time- Well, he could never deny Lucy of her intuition. 

He knocked himself from his trance, noticing a panicked flush of the features in front of him. “Bridgerton.” The name was soft on his lips. This was what flying felt like. He had almost forgotten. “If you were to apologize, I would rather it be for your opinion on my art.” 

The laugh had Benedict’s shoulders falling from a tense position he hadn’t even realized he was holding. 

“Though- I must admit, this is not the place for-” before he could finish his words, Benedict was pulling him in once again and Henry, for the life of him, didn’t have the heart to push him away.

Instead, his body leaned forward, pushing Benedict into the railing on the front steps of his studio, a hand grasping at the metal bar just above Bridgerton’s hip. He wanted their lips to stay connected, to continue seeing the world in splashes of bright colors even as the moon washed over them. 

“The place for this?” Benedict finished.

“Go home, Bridgerton. Before you drink my studio dry,” Henry laughed softly. 

“As pleasant as that sounds Granville- I do believe I would like to come back next week. Your wife promised me that my seat was saved for all future events,” Benedict recalled, leaning back further against the railing, careful not to tip over even as his head continued to spin.

“Lucy tends to get what she wants,” Henry’s fingers brushed against Benedict’s neck at a mark he could only guess was left by his wife’s teeth. He couldn’t be jealous, the woman had good taste when it came to men. “I have half a mind to walk you home. Make sure you don’t fall to the side of the road, or find yourself lost in a park.”

Benedict dismissed him, waving a hand at Henry. He was no child. “If I get lost- then do tell my mother that I had the best night of my life. Perhaps leave out the details though.”

His body turned, long legs walking backwards down the few short steps. Henry held his breath with every footfall- worried the younger...God, the much younger… would fall onto his back with each swaying step. 

“You shall be my death Benedict Bridgerton.” Henry groaned as the other jumped off the laugh step with a far too toothy grin.

“I’m insulted Granville. We may have to meet at the park to duel by dawn-”

“Go home, before I tell your brother your just as stupid as he is.”

“You wouldn’t. The questions he would ask afterwards- then God forbid Eloise heard. She hears everything,” It did not help that Benedict could not stop himself from telling her anything she wished to know. Granville was different though, Granville was a secret that he wasn’t ready to risk.

“Home.” Henry said with finality, even though he was ready to wrap the other in his arms to bring him back into the studio.

Benedict gave a small bow- one more from the absinthe running through his bloodstream then out of necessity before turning down the street toward the Bridgerton home, not watching as Henry turned in for the night.

Hands slipped into his pockets as he walked through the ton, listening to his own footfalls as a set began to click behind him. His body straightened, unsure if he had forgotten something at the studio as he felt a hand on his wrist. 

“Granville- I just left. Do not tell me you missed-” His words cut off as he saw the twisted face of one of his sister’s suitors- the man who had been run off from the ton by that Whistledown woman.

“I miss nothing, Bridgerton. I certainly did not miss a gross and improper display of affection,” Nigel Berbrooke said, pushing out the words as his hand gripped tighter to Benedict's wrist. “What would the ton think?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: So I've added 2 new tags: nonconsensual kissing and violence. Please skip if you are not comfortable with that. Love you all. 
> 
> Aside from that, Chapter 3 may have some protective Anthony/Eloise (maybe all) Bridgerton feels. So good comfort coming? Promise?

Benedict recoiled, His body, which felt like it had been floating merely moments before, now felt as if it was crashing to the ground as he looked into the eyes of Nigel Berbrooke. His mind wouldn’t focus on himself though, instead thinking of Henry who had guarded himself for years from society without being caught.

“I suggest you take your hand off of me.” Benedict said, clearing his throat to push away all the nerves that were coiling so tightly around his entity. The second eldest Bridgerton pushed himself at full height, squaring his shoulders at the other. “I promise you my sister’s fist would feel like a gentle kiss compared to mine.”

Nigel would have loved to say he didn’t quiver at the thought of Daphne punching him, but he felt as his face as it gave a twitch. He remembered that night in a bit of a fog- he had been drinking more than he should have and the girl just wouldn’t listen to him. “Your sister did not know her place as a lady- though I’m sure you know about that very well, Bridgerton. You know, with what you were doing in that house.”

Benedict remained stoic, keeping his shoulders squared as he gave another yank of his wrist until it was out of Berbrooke’s grasp. For the first time that night, he wished he had left more absinthe in the bottle than he had put into his glass.

“What _was_ I doing in that house, Berbrooke? Please, enlighten me? I would love to get insight on what you _think_ you saw while stalking the streets of London at this hour. You see, I was merely walking home from a function I was invited to- but you?” If Berbrooke thought Benedict would sway or falter, he was wrong. He was a Bridgerton, after all. Whether any of the family wanted to admit it, there was a deep streak of stubbornness within them.

Nigel, as ashamed as he was, didn’t back down, even as he felt the embarrassment wash over him all over again. He had been run out of town by a woman and her god damn gossip column. What did anyone know of his life? He had been poised to marry the Diamond of the Season, find love, have children that were legitimate, then make sure he no one ever laughed in his direction again- and then this Lady Whistledown.

“Maybe I should walk you home, Benedict. You do, after all, smell of smoke and booze. Perhaps one of you could introduce me to one of your sisters in exchange for keeping your secret and making sure you didn’t get into any trouble. Who is the next in line? Eloise-”

Benedict’s anger quickly began to rise, not only at the thought of being blackmailed- but at the thought of anyone assuming they would gain the attention of Eloise. If he had been sober, he would have reminded himself not to act like Anthony- but he was not. The hand that was once held in place by Berbrooke, keeping him stationary swung out. 

He heard the collision of his fist against Berbrooke’s face before he felt it against his own skin. It was moments before he felt the sting of his knuckles from the hard impact of a cheek. “Damn it…” Benedict grunted softly, shaking out his fist. “I...suggest you keep my dear sister’s name out of your mouth, Berbrooke. She will rule the world one day and show every man just how undeserving they are for the things they have.”

Berbrooke toppled to the side, his body crashing against the carriage he had once been hiding behind when he had spotted Henry and Benedict intertwined. “You’re not even deserving...of being called a man, Bridgerton.” 

Benedict’s face twisted, but it wasn’t in pain, no. It was a look that was oddly familiar to Berbrooke. It was pity. That dark twist in Nigel’s stomach, the same one that he had felt when he first began his walk into the ton, began to surface yet again. This time he didn’t contain it -- couldn’t -- and lashed out. He pushed off the carriage and tackled the second eldest Bridgerton to the ground.

There was a moment of shock as Benedict fell backwards, his head, already swirling from alcohol and a thinning patience, hitting the cobbled road underneath him. The crack had his vision blurring, darkening, then trying to focus a moment later. The shapes still swirled as he winced, feeling a body lean down to him. 

“How does it feel, Bridgerton? To finally be knocked off the pretty perch you and your entire family sit on. You can’t get away with everything. Not you, not the Duke of Hastings- or Anthony,” The distaste in his mouth lingered as he remembered Anthony’s empty promises that he could have Daphne. He had been promised Daphne. Was this all Anthony’s fault? Before he could stop himself, he punched Benedict who wasn’t even trying to fight back. 

The second time Nigel landed a hit, he felt Benedict’s body shift underneath him, hearing a groan of pain. This time hands covered in dry paint reached out.

It was the only energy that Benedict had left in him. Put his hands up- protect his face, or perhaps his chest. If he could get his palms against Nigel’s chest, he could knock him off. If he just tried a little hard to focus his eyes. “Ber- Get off…” His words slurred out, the words stringing together. 

“Your brother owes me! He owes me, Bridgerton!”

The words felt too loud, ringing through his ears. His hands were being swatted away easily till they were held down at his sides. Panic washed over his body, ice cold. Benedict sat himself a little too quickly, his world darkening around the corners as a hand gripped his jaw.

“You-...all of you ruined my life. It’s not going to get better, is it? But I can take you down with me, Bridgerton- I could do it. I could watch our dear Anthony’s pride fall apart, knowing he can’t protect a member of his family for once.” Nigel didn’t think in that moment as he held Benedict’s face in his hands. Though Daphne’s features were soft, Benedict had the same structure as his sister- their eyes almost identical, even as the male continually tried to focus through rapidly blinks of long lashes.

To be honest, Nigel didn’t know what he was doing as he leaned down to put his lips to Benedict’s. Perhaps he wanted to see if he tasted like Daphne. The sickness of what he had done didn’t flood back to him until he felt his lip being dug into by Bridgerton’s teeth. 

It was the only thing Benedict could think of, as he tried to gain some type of leverage against the other to get Nigel off of him. The kiss made his stomach clench in nausea, it was unlike Henry’s- unlike Lucy’s. This was vile- unwanted. “Get off-” 

Nigel gasped out as he pulled back to touch a hand to his own lips, pulling back to see a droplet of blood on his fingertips. “What did you do to me?” He questioned- he had kissed another man. He was now deeper into this than he had when he first spotted the artist and his lover. “What did you do?!” He asked again, as a hand wrapped around Bridgerton’s neck.

“Benedict? - Dear God, Benedict?” 

Nigel’s grasp immediately loosened as he turned to the sound of another voice. Down the road, the artist stood on the same steps where Benedict had left what seemed like moments ago. This time- there was a woman behind the man instead of a man. 

Nigel’s eyes went from Bridgerton to the man who was running down the street- closing the gap. “This-...this is not over. You owe me- your family owes me.” He pushed himself from the ground, from over top of Benedict, whose back landed back down on the cobblestone. 

Benedict didn’t see Berbrooke run off. He didn’t see much of anything. He felt a hand reach out, this one rough, but friendly- and a warmth of a voice that matched, even though it seemed filled with worry.

“Benedict- Darling. I need you to look at me…” Henry whispered gently, putting an arm under those long legs he had been admiring just moments ago. “C’mon. We’re getting you inside.” 

“No- go...grab, Berbro…” the name died on Benedict’s lips though. He didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.

“Benedict- for once in your life. I need you not to talk back to me. I’m getting you inside,” this time, Henry’s words were unyielding. Benedict didn’t have a choice. He tried once again to sit up. It was just enough for Henry to slip his hand underneath his back.

Soon his back was no longer on the cold cobblestone, instead he was in the arms of Granville, heading back to the studio.

“Hey…” Benedict whispered, his head lulling to the side to rest against Henry’s chest. “I like when you call me Benedict.”


End file.
